The Black Heir
by kuropi-chan
Summary: A Re-Imagining of the World of Harry Potter. (Currently working on a more appropriate title and summary).
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

It was dark. Evening had settled in and the starless sky rested above the castle foreboding and quiet - or it would have been quiet had not the sound of panicked, rushing feet slapping against the stone floor pierced the silence.

The rustle of fabric, along with soft panting, echoed through the hallway as a pale figure raced in search of sanctuary.

An almost crazed look was in those pale, silver eyes as pink-nearly white- lips frantically begged for a place to hide and remain unseen. As one soft hand gathered the thin cloth around a cold body, another sought for purchase along the cool stone walls.

Despairing at the lack of escape, a shiver ran through the slender back that remained hidden underneath the only source of warmth. What was there left to do but to await the inevitable?

Just as acceptance of one's fate was about to creep in, a series of measured commanding and authoritative steps echoed again in the warmthless corridor. It was different from the boisterous, loud steps that were expected.

And yet the pale figure shrunk against the wall, wishing that in that very moment, the stones would consume it.

"It's late," a cold fathomless voice said clearly.

Speechless, the golden head hid its face. Better to say nothing and be safe than to attract more attention than necessary.

"Shouldn't you be in your dormitory?"

A question. It arose the need for the propriety for a response; however, none was forthcoming. Instead, another shiver travelled across the pale body.

This time, it was visible.

No words were spoken after. Instead, two fully clothed hands wrapped a thick, black cloak about the cold shoulders, tying a light knot so as to secure its position before lifting the hood to cover the almost-silver and yet quite-gold hair.

The thin cloth was taken from shaking hands, disentangled from desperate fingers, and left to settle lightly on the ground.

Diamond-grey eyes watched warily as the cloth floated and rested, then widened as strong hands unclothed themselves and a pair of warm gloves were thrust into ice cold hands.

"Keep them," when a look of protest appeared in those eyes.

After a moment's hesitation, and with much prompting from the biting cold, long pale fingers and slender hands were soon encased in warmth.

When silver eyes rose to meet their rescuer, they were met with an empty hallway and a whispered promise: "Until we meet again."

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 1: The Letter

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

Draco's hands shook as he read the letter. It was brief, concise and straight to the point. Dilly-dallying was not a talent his father possessed and it was evident in the words written in precise and structured handwriting:

_Draco,_

_You are expected to present yourself at the Manor for tea tomorrow at 4.00 p.m. Come at once. Any delay is unacceptable._

_Lucius_

"Lucius...?" he snorted. "He doesn't even possess the decency to sign off his correspondences with 'Your father.'"

"What are you muttering about this time?" drawled a voice beside him. It's owner, a self-assured brown-eyed young man of eighteen, toyed with a teaspoon before pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Father has written me."

"Oho! News from the Manor!" laughed the brown-eyed, black-haired friend, who quickly placed his cup in its saucer with a clang - causing Draco to wince - before tearing the letter out of his friend's hands and scanning its contents.

"Blaise!" The Malfoy Heir shrieked. "You promised you wouldn't read my letters anymore!" Making a grab for the parchment, he was sorely disappointed when the Zabini Heir held it above his head. For despite the shared aged between them, Blaise was still taller than him. "Give it back!"

Ruffling his friend's hair, Blaise grinned at his friend's scowl before returning the letter to him. "What do you think he means by that?"

As he quickly ran his fingers through his hair to arrange his hair once more, Draco shrugged - a habit that both his parents disapproved of - and said, "I haven't the faintest clue. Father enjoys being cryptic in his letters, in the same way that mother tends to wax eloquently in her letters."

Nodding, Blaise buttered his toast. It was true. Narcissa Malfoy, the beauty of a wife that belonged to Lucius Malfoy, wrote lengthy volumes. His mother having been at the receiving end of some of these epistles had shown Blaise some of the letters.

"She can never seem to contain her excitement over the achievements and events in the life of her darling little boy," Helene Zabini had explained to her son when he questioned Auntie 'Cissy' and her unnaturally long letters.

"I don't see why I have to go. We have riding lessons tomorrow, along with that lengthy history exam, and I will not miss it," Draco bit into a slide of apple vehemently.

Blaise shook his head, his black hair framing his olive-skinned face, while his eyes sparkled with merriment. "You can't not go, Draco. Your father was pretty clear on that part of his letter."

"Why do you have to _incessantly_ point out the obvious?" his friend groaned. "I know that but you couldn't have given me the option of believing for even a second that I had a choice?"

"Don't be silly, Draco. Everyone knows I am astoundingly observant. Why keep the details to myself?" Helene Zabini's son laughed before spearing another slice of pear. "What do you think it's about though?"

"I haven't the faintest idea..."

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Call the guards! Sound the alarm! We are being besieged!" Blaise yelled to no one in particular, standing as a fuming Zacharias Smith marched toward their direction.

"Blaise," Draco groaned as he sipped his tea. "Not too loud, please."

"I have got to run, Draco old chap. I'll come find you after a quick lap around the campus and we shall discuss this letter of yours," Blaise said in hushed tones before announcing loudly: "Toodles, love. I'll see you in class!" then running out the hall without so much as a "By your leave."

"Bastard..." Draco groaned as a rampaging Smith gave chase, yelling invectives at the escaping Zabini.

_To be continued_

_Author's note: I took the liberty of naming Blaise Zabini's mother "Helene" after Helen of Troy. My justification? She was described in the books as a beauty and she had seven husbands. Didn't Helen of Troy have a "face that launched a thousand ships" and didn't many men die because of it? ;)_


	3. Chapter 2: The Meeting

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

The crunch of gravel beneath his feet was enough to make him take in a deep breath and hold it. The imposing building that stood before him - a testament to his ancestors love of detail - was as it had always been: dark and foreboding.

How he had managed to live in it during the early part of his life was beyond him.

As the heavy carved doors were opened to welcome him, he sighed. Why couldn't his father have remodeled the Manor was a question he would never ask. While other families had homes modeled in the classical, baroque or even neoclassical style, his family had decided to keep their Manor as it was.

"A symbol of our family's long and rich history," or something to that effect had been his father's way of introducing the building to him soon after he had underwent his breeching.

There were only a handful of families that had such Manors done in the gothic style, the most imposing, detailed and darkly elegant of which belonged to the Blacks. Draco shivered at the memory of it as he mounted the steps toward the door.

He had naught been but a couple more away from it when his mother burst through the entryway, all but ran to him and engulfed him in her arms while saying, "Oh my darling boy! You've come home at last!"

"Mother, you're suffocating me," he complained as his mother drew his face toward her, framing it with her delicately pale hands.

"Nonsense, darling. Have you been eating properly? You seem to have lost too much weight, but not to worry, you're home. I'll have the servants fix you something to eat," she patted his cheek before giving him a kiss on either one. "I am so pleased you're home and just in time for the news, too!"

"What news?" he frowned.

Smoothing out the lines on his forehead, Narcissa smiled. "Draco, what have I told you about frowning?"

Groaning, Draco recited the old adage his mother lived by: "Frowning creates wrinkles and lines."

"And you will do well to remember that, my dear child," Narcissa pinched her son's cheek before tucking her arm around his and leading him into the Manor.

"Where is father?" Draco asked, suddenly remembering the missive that had carried him home.

"He's in the receiving hall," his mother explained. "He has some guests with him at the moment, which is why he couldn't come to greet you."

"Guests?" He followed his mother as she steered him toward the parlour, where tea was waiting for them.

"Yes. He's had a steady stream of them since late last week. First it was Lord Parkinson, then Lord Longbottom, followed by Lord Weasley," his mother counted them off on her fingers before pouring him tea.

"Pansy's father?" Draco's eyes grew wide. "And the Advisers to the King?"

His mother nodded. "Yes. I will admit I was quite surprised to see Lord Parkinson. I had half hoped that he was only there to accompany Violet to visit me, but he came on business."

"Business?"

"Your father would not divulge and I have given up trying to find out. Not that I could even find time to with all this visiting happening all at once," Narcissa somewhat complained before she bit into a biscuit delicately.

"And his guest now?"

"Your uncle's come to visit," his mother waved her hand dismissively. "He hardly ever visits me and yet-"

"Uncle Xenophilius?" He choked on his tea causing his mother to fly to his side and pat his back.

"Darling, I have told you to avoid talking when drinking tea," she gently said as she soothed his back.

"I'm fine now, mother," Draco replied after taking several gulps of air. "But you can't possibly be serious in telling me that father is receiving Uncle Xenophilius this very moment. He...he hates him!"

"Well, hate might be too strong a word to describe your father's feelings toward your Uncle Xeno," Narcissa demured.

"But how can he sit there and pretend to be nice to him when everyone knows he doesn't like him?" Draco's voice rose a bit.

"Because he isn't meeting him," a deep and tired voice interrupted them.

Draco froze. He would know that voice anywhere. His mother gasped before giving a quick curtsey, gesturing to her son with her eyes to provide their guest with the male equivalent of the greeting.

As soon as he looked up from his bow, Draco saw those cold silver eyes on him and the pale face turned toward him framed by long, dark ebony-black hair.

"Good afternoon, nephew."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 3: The Secret

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

It would be years before Draco would admit to how frightened he was about that meeting. He couldn't take his eyes off that pale face-even if it the voice that accompanied it had announced that he had leave to take a seat.

His father had discreetly elbowed him to sit while his mother gently coaxed him toward one.

And all the while his father's most prestigious guest sat watching the proceedings with a sort of disengaged and disinterested air as though nothing could capture his attention for more than a few miniscule seconds.

"I believe you-"

Draco was more than surprised when an equally pale hand was raised and his father was forced to cease what would have been quite the introduction.

"Let him speak for himself," turning to Draco, the infinitely cold eyes questioned him. "Do you know who I am, Draco?"

"Y-Yes, s-s-sir." Why was he stuttering? He had never stuttered in his life! His father had broke him of the habit at a young age, saying that it was an unseemly behaviour for one of his stature to hav and yet here he was: stuttering.

"That is good to hear. I had half the thought your father would disapprove of you being told about me," the black hair swayed a bit as the head gave a nod of approval. "Do you know why I am here, Draco?"

Swallowing, Draco frantically searched for an answer in his memories of the past few days. Finding nothing, he slowly shook his head which earned him a reprimanding glare from his father.

"Well, _that _is interesting. You know who I am-perhaps even my position and rank-and yet you possess no knowledge as to why I am here. Has no one ever told you that we are related by blood? Granted, it has been _diluted _ by Malfoy blood, but the ties between us cannot be denied."

Draco gasped. He was related to the- Turning to his mother, the query was in his wide eyes. She gave him a small smile, assuring him that his thoughts were in the right direction.

"I don't know if I ought to feel slighted or annoyed about this discovery, but I shall feign ignorance on the matter altogether. Have you presented yet?"

At this, Draco's brow knotted in confusion. Presented? What did their guest mean?

"Have you not told this boy of his heritage, Lucius?" the cold voice rose to a frigid volume. "Or am I to assume that this is the result of Narcissa's coddling?"

"I gave him some foundation on the subject," Lucius replied. "However-"

Draco wracked his memories for the "foundation" his father spoke of before he remembered the time when his father had called him to the study and explained to him why it was absolutely necessary to have the countless amount of security and servants surrounding him. At that time, Lucius had put it all down to...

"Special Blood," Draco murmured.

"What did you say, Draco?" Narcissa coaxed her son gently.

"Father once told me I had special blood, but he never told me what made it special," Draco explained.

Their guest gave a dignified snort. "Trust Lucius to be cryptic about such things. That tells me you have yet to present. Your father must have felt it too delicate a subject to broach. However, unlike your father I have neither the time nor the leisure to spare you and your delicate sensibilities."

At this, Draco felt his mother place a gentle hand on his shoulder while another stroked his hair. "Must you tell him?" she softly asked. "He's still very young."

The silver eyes gave her a look that had her grow silent. She removed her hands from her son and went to sit in another couch.

"Your father was right to tell you about your "Special Blood." Granted, the term is not one we of the House of Black use, but it is the best way to describe it."

"We're not...Veela, are we?"

A black brow rose. "Veela have white-gold hair. Do I look like I have white-gold hair, Draco?"

"No, sir."

"Then cease interrupting me," was the stern reprimand. "This "Special Blood" is why your father and his family have kept you under lock and key, ensuring your safety and well-being. Aside from myself, there are only two other people who possess this kind of blood. One of them is you."

"But how is that possible when I haven't-as you have said so yourself-presented?" Draco paled.

"Presenting is a different part of this blood. Have you ever noticed why beside your name in the family tapesty appears a silver star?"

Draco started. "No...it can't be." Without a second thought, he stood and ran toward the Tapestry Room. Scanning frantically, his eyes settled on a bright silver star that stood next to his name. "It can't be."

"I'm afraid it is." Their guest had followed him into the Tapestry Room. "This Special Blood is called Astralis. It is a special thing to be Star-Kissed, or so they say. Hence, the euphemistic terminology of "Special Blood," Draco."

"But why are you telling me this?" Draco whispered as he stared at the star that seemed to mock him, his fears and apprehensions.

"Can you keep a secret, Draco?"

_To be continued_


	5. Chapter 4: The Arrival

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

"Have you heard the news?" Blaise asked as he slid into his seat with a book at hand.

"What news?" came a distracted reply.

"If you would stop that frantic scribbling, you'd actually hear me."

The white quill ceased its movement and a pair of grey eyes looked up from the parchment. "I am _not _scribbling frantically," it announced haughtily.

Blaise held up his hands in mock surrender. "I stand corrected then. Honestly, Draco, I haven't seen you so immersed in your studies as you are now. What is going on?"

Turning his gaze to the shelf behind his friend, Draco shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

" See here-"

"Didn't you say you had some sort of news you were just dying to announce?" Draco interrupted.

Blaise threw him a dirty look before gallantly resuming the early part of their conversation. "I wasn't "dying to announce" it as you so eloquently put," he replied airily. "I just thought you'd be interested to know that a little bird told me there's something a-brewin' in the Palace- Draco, what's wrong?"

Draco stared at the blot his quill had created. On the middle of his parchment. Right at the main portion of his essay. "What did this little bird say was going on?"

"Arrangements are being made for the arrival of the Crown Prince. Seriously, Draco, is everything alright?" Blaise stared as his friend laughed.

"Yes, everything is fine, Blaise. For a moment there I thought you were going to be the bearer of..." he suddenly trailed off.

"Bearer of what?" Blaise's brow arched. "Bad news? Really, Draco, what do you take me for: an insensitive bastard? If it _were _bad news - which it isn't - then I'd have been beaten by the Royal Messenger Owl in delivering said news. But this is more of good news - the sort that is open to public information - so I may say it however I please."

"Yes, yes. We get the point already, Zabini. Bad news: owl. Good news: you. Now would you do the library a favour and pipe down?"

"Make me, Goldstein," was the nonchalant response as Blaise rubbed his fingernails against the lapel of his coat before examining them. "Because as far as I know, you haven't the aptitude for it."

Gritting his teeth, Anthony Goldstein forced a smile. "Would you please - with a ton of Fortescue's Ice Cream - shut it?"

"Shan't," Blaise practically beamed from where he had perched himself atop the table. "You can't tell me to "shut it" as that isn't even a proper term to use." Turning to Draco, who was watching the proceedings with a half-amused, half-horrified air, he went on. "Ah, Draco, these nouveau riche families ought to teach their sprogs the language of the respectable. It is such a pity, you know."

"That's it!" Anthony bellowed from his side of the table before he launched himself toward the offending party that was Blaise Zabini, his book in hand.

Before Draco could yelp about his essay being destroyed, two pairs of hands clapped onto Anthony's shoulders and arms preventing him from laying hands on the smug face that belonged to Blaise Zabini.

"The cavalry has arrived," he announced as Michael Corner and Terry Boot dissuaded their friend from attacking him. "Why must you always ruin the fun, just when it gets to the good part?"

"Must you really rile him up, Zabini?" Terry Boot frowned as he watched Michael lead a still furious yet calmer Anthony away from the table. "You know how it upsets him that you call him nouveau riche."

Zabini reached over and gave Terry's cheek two heavy pats. "Don't be silly, Boot. He _is _nouveau riche. It's because I called him a sprog," he said with a smile before walking off with a decided swing of his hips.

"Your friend is a pain, Malfoy," Terry turned to Draco, who was frantically trying to salvage what he could of his essay.

"Zabini's...passionate, Boot. You and I both know where he gets it from."

"Helene Zabini is as feisty as they come, but in a charming way. Her son, on other hand, is a different story altogether."

"Yes, well, just be thankful he hasn't gone about propositioning Goldstein. I don't know what would be worse: a prickly Zabini or a petrified Goldstein," Draco said as he rolled up his parchment. "Either way, Blaise is harmless. Most of the time."

"Some friend you are, Malfoy," Terry laughed. "Just tell him to steer clear of Anthony for the time being."

"I make no promises," was his non-committal reply as he exited the library.

"So what did the Boot-ster say?"

Leaning against the wall just outside the library was a bored-looking Zabini.

"Merlin, Blaise!" Draco scolded, having jumped at the unexpected voice.

Blaise laughed. "You should have seen the height you jumped. You looked like a cat who'd been spooked."

"Ha ha. Amusing," the Malfoy heir sniffed. "You owe me an essay. Mine was almost ruined because of your shenanigans."

"Operational word: almost. So no, I don't really owe you an essay," Blaise grabbed the parchment and unrolled it, examining the penmanship of his friend. "So what did Boot say?"

Draco sighed as he swiped back his essay. "He said to keep out of Goldstein's way for now."

"Anything else?"

"No," Draco glared. "Was there supposed to be?"

A secretive smile crept into Zabini's face as he swung an arm across Draco's shoulder and pulled him to their next class. "No, not at all."

_To be continued_


	6. Chapter 5: The Fête

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

Nightfall had descended on the Palace. Not a sound was to be heard except that of gravel crushed beneath the wheels of a Rolls Royce Phantom bearing no crest, insignia or marker.

The vehicle stopped by a back entryway, allowing its passenger to disembark from the vehicle and enter the building quickly and without delay.

Once the passenger was safely ensconced within the Palace walls, the driver carefully drove away to park the car. It was when he had reached the garage that he removed the black cloth that concealed the crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Malfoy Manor was abuzz with activity. The servants were marching in and out of the Manor with such speed that Draco was getting a headache just watching them follow his mother's instructions to the letter.

Let it not be said that the Lady Narcissa Malfoy was not the perfect hostess.

The florists were in a mad scramble to arrange vases of lilies that he pitied his mother's gardener who could only wring his cap in frustration as he explained to the Lady Malfoy that they simply did not have enough lilies to fill all the vases, and surely other blossoms would do?

"That cannot be!" Narcissa threw her hands up in an exasperated air. "I must have lilies else everything is for naught!"

Draco had to stifle his laughter as one of their butlers tried to console her Ladyship with the help of her maid. His mother was hovering between frantic and distraught, and his father was nowhere to be seen.

Lucius, in the flurry of all the domestic activity, had opted to make a quick exit with his steward in tow. Draco, however, was not as fortunate. He had woken late and was in the middle of slipping out of his nightclothes when his mother had burst into his chambers - entourage of servants in tow - and demanded he dress his best for lunch.

"I think the cobalt blue one will do just nicely, darling," she said as she flung open his wardrobe and proceeded to look for the aforementioned article of clothing. "And you must have your father's valet trim your hair. It's quite long and I won't have it covering your face."

Once she had lain the suit across his bed and kissed her "most beloved son," Narcissa exited his room still with her entourage in tow.

Once Draco had been brushed and scrubbed to within an inch of his life - he was quite red after it - he was dressed in his suit and was told that his mother had ordered him to stay out of mischief.

"I perfectly capable of knowing when not to muss up my clothing," he replied haughtily before moving himself to the couches in the morning room where he proceeded to watch his mother with amusement.

He was wondering how much longer the argument over the flowers would go when he heard the decided stomp of his father's boots, followed by the solid ones of their steward.

"What - may I ask - is going on here?" Lucius Malfoy inquired of his wife, who had paused in the middle of berating the florists and the gardener to give her husband a weary smile.

"Lucius, we've run out of lilies!"

At this, Draco couldn't help himself and masked his laughter with a snort. His father glanced at him and he quickly wiped the amused look from his face.

"I don't see why we must fill this house to the brim with lilies, Narcissa. There are other perfectly good blossoms you can use to fill the gaps. You can have hyacinth and baby's breath in the vases. Just spread out the lilies evenly in each one," Lucius sighed. "I am sure your cousin will understand that we do not own a monopoly of lilies in this country."

"Very well," his mother nodded in defeat. "Do as his Lordship has suggested." She ordered the florists and the gardener. "Only white blossoms, mind."

"Really, Narcissa, is all this necessary or are you trying to make an impression?"

"Helene!" The Lady Malfoy looked quite beside herself. "You've come early! Where is your little boy?"

"Lady Zabini, you are quite early," was Lucius's cold greeting. He quite disapproved of the Lady Zabini's beauty. Perhaps he felt she eclipsed his wife a bit and Malfoy's deserved nothing but the best. However, Narcissa was not only beautiful but she also hailed from a prestigious family. However, it still did not discount the fact that Helene was a great beauty.

"Lord Malfoy, cold as ever," Helene Zabini laughed as she and Narcissa kissed each other on the cheek. "And before you ask, my husband will be in attendance. He was in the middle of responding to a correspondence from his brother."

"I'd never dream of insinuating otherwise."

"Blaise will be in attendance too, won't he?" A worried look crept into Narcissa's face.

"He wouldn't miss it for the world, Cissy." Lucius cringed at the nickname his wife had been given. "Look, here he comes with your son. Blaise? Come here, darling, and give your Auntie Cissy an kiss."

Blaise, looking resplendent in a deep burgundy suit, beamed at Narcissa Malfoy before sweeping a bow and giving her a kiss on her hand. "Hullo, Auntie 'Cissa. You look well."

"You must have all the ladies after you," Narcissa gave the young man a motherly pat on his cheek. "Showering them with such gallantry."

"Don't tease him, Narcissa.," Lucius frowned. "I believe the young man takes after his father in that department."

"But he does look an awful lot like you, Helene," Narcissa went on to say to her friend. "You must be the envy of all the ladies in your brother-in-law's court."

"He _is _adorable, isn't he? My little cherubino," Helene pinched both her son's cheeks, which had him protesting indignantly.

"Mother, please."

"But your Draco isn't so bad either, Cissy," Helene gave him a onceover. "He looks very pretty, much like yourself."

At this, Narcissa laughed in a manner that indicated she was very pleased with the comment. Draco, however, had a slight frown on his face.

"Ignore my mother. She has the habit of making compliments that make the recipient uncomfortable," Blaise whispered to his friend before re-introducing his friend to his mother.

Draco leaned forward to take the Lady Zabini's hand when she took his face between her hands and peered closely at it as her son protested. "I wonder, Draco, whether it is young ladies you will attract during this fête," she said in hushed tone, with a twinkle in her eyes, before loudly complimenting his eyes and releasing him from her hold. "Your colouring is very Malfoy. You ought to be proud, Lucius."

"What did she say?" Blaise asked as their parents made their way to the parlour.

"Nothing of importance," Draco replied.

_To be continued_


	7. Chapter 6: The Name

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

The steady flow of guests arriving had Draco itching to get away from the lunch. Granted, he was hardly suffering as his father was - standing by the entryway that led to the garden in order to be the perfect host and greet each and everyone of the new arrivals - and yet he felt as though he was doing the exact same office. Honestly, why couldn't his mother own up to arranging for a garden party instead of calling it a luncheon?

Grabbing a champagne flute from a passing tray, he emptied in unceremoniously before placing it onto another passing tray. It had only been his second...or was it his third?...glass. He had to keep count though, because unlike Blaise - who had been born and bred on a daily dose of liquor, thus making him the perfect alcoholic - he was only allowed the occasional glass.

Thus, Draco had turned out a lightweight.

_But it's a party - even if mother will not own to that title - and I am entitled to enjoy myself at my mother's party. It's the least I deserve for keeping up with all her guests. Who did she invite exactly? The entire family and extended relations? _Draco frowned as he surveyed the crowd.

It was an array of families from the nobility, and then some. To be frank, most of these families were related to them from his mother's side. She was - after all - a Black, prior to her marriage and the Blacks, prestigious family that they were, had married not only amongst themselves but also among the families of the nobility.

Hence, he was now looking at the mishmash of relations they had as a result of all that "cross-breeding."

It is to be noted that most of the "cross-breeding" had happened on his mother's side of the family.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment to regroup and focus at the same time wondering why his mother had not asked the servants to lead their guests to their seats.

"Broke your nose?" Blaise sniffed superiorly as he gently gave the wine in his glass a soft twirl.

"Don't start, Blaise."

His friend laughed before quickly sobering up and delivering a sharp elbow to his side. "Buck up, Draco! Here comes that simpering excuse of a- Ms Brown, fancy seeing you here."

Draco tried his best to wipe his face clean of any expression of amusement at the fact that Blaise had almost been caught mid-insult by the very person he was directing it toward.

"Mr Zabini, how do you do? Mr Malfoy," was the giggling response they received as the brown-haired young lady delivered two short curtsies. If one was to honest, it would seem like two short bobs instead of curtsies.

"I," Blaise quickly flashed her a debonair smile. "am in perfect health. My associate here is likewise."

"I am pleased to hear that. I believe this means that we will be seeing more of you at court?" The woman was not to be deterred!

"That would depend, Ms Brown, on many things. Chief of which is whether my father will be summoned back."

"I had forgotten that your father is brother to a king," Lavender exclaimed. "And you, Mr Malfoy? Will we be given the privilege of seeing you at court more often?"

"Surely not!" A voice scoffed from behind Lavender. "To ask Draco to show his face in court would be to ask that sunshine and rainbows forever hail our evenings."

The voice belonged to none other than Pansy Parkinson, whose somewhat petite yet slender stature belied a sharp tongue. Despite her faults, or virtues - depending on how you look at them - she was a woman after Draco's own heart. Perhaps it was the overexposure of having her as a playmate when he was younger that immuned him from her scathing remarks.

"Pansy!" Draco kissed his friend's cheek while Blaise kissed her on the other. "Mother didn't tell me you'd be coming."

"It was a last minute thing. Mother thought it best if I joined them for this fête," Pansy said with a wave of her hand. "However, as I was saying, you appearing in court will be the last thing I expect you to do."

"Stranger things have happened, Panse," Blaise shrugged, earning him a rap on the arm from Pansy's fan.

"You know I hate being called that," she frowned at him before turning to Lavender. "See, Draco, while completely spoiled and utterly self-absorbed, doesn't take too well in crowds. I suppose this stems from the fact that when he was a baby, his mother - due to having passed what possible good looks she could from her side of the family - was so enamoured of him that she had the habit of bringing him with her wherever she went. Hence, he was passed on and cooed upon by every relation of his from Newcastle to London. He developed such a dislike for it that to this day, he would rather be locked in a dungeon than endure his masses upon masses of relatives, immediate or extended."

"You poor thing," Lavender turned to Draco. "I had no idea that was the case. Never you mind, the ladies will understand. I shall take my leave of you then, as I see my mother calling me."

With a curtsy - or a bob really - she left them.

"Did you really have to perjure yourself so much?"

"I think it was an amazing lie," Blaise laughed. "A lie, nonetheless an amazing one. I wonder how many young ladies such as herself would believe such a tale before investigating for the truth?"

"Don't fret, Draco," Pansy comforted her friend. "The objective was merely to get her out of our hair. If we told her the truth, the effect would have been the complete opposite. That aside, what is keeping your mother from announcing lunch?"

"I haven't a clue," Draco shook his head.

"My best guess is that she's waiting for something...or someone," Blaise noted before downing his glass.

"Someone?" Pansy's brow rose in a quizzical manner. " Don't be ridiculous, Blaise. Narcissa would never have an affair. She's much too in love with Lucius."

Draco stared. His mother? Have an affair? _Not if I can help it_, he thought to himself. While Malfoys were generally known as selfish, well-to-do, and vain, they frowned on affairs. Even the mere idea repulsed them as they prized family above all else.

"Announcing the presence of His Royal Highness and Heir to His Majesty the King of the House of Black-"

"Quite a mouthful, isn't it?" Blaise observed to Draco in hushed tones.

"The Crown Prince, Harry James Potter."

_To be continued_


	8. Chapter 7: The Incident

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

The effect of the announcement was instantaneous. A solemn somewhat severe silence settled over the crowd. If one were to observe the crowd that had gathered, it was as though no one wanted to breathe as they watched the Crown Prince come out into the garden.

He was wearing a black dolman, with silver buttons and cords across the front. The lower part of his sleeves were embroidered in silver thread, and his breeches were white as snow. His boots - black in colour too - echoed over the floor as he made his way toward them and in his hand he clutched two white gloves.

His clothing was enough to stun the crowd as the host and his wife came forward to greet him.

"Your Highness," Narcissa was almost beside herself in extreme happiness. "I am so pleased that you have come to join us."

"I would like to thank you for your kind invitation, Lady Malfoy," a cold voice replied. "However, my uncle sends his apologies as he will be unable to join us for lunch. He has asked me to tell you that he sends you and your husband his best regards."

"Well, that is a pity," Narcissa nodded understandingly before turning to her husband. "I did think His Majesty would be able to join us."

"Nevermind, Narcissa. I am sure His Majesty has his reasons," he assured his wife, before turning to their guest. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor, your Highness. I hope you find our abode to your satisfaction."

"Yes, it is a lovely place," the Crown Prince gave a singular nod. "I have heard that you are in possession of one of the best gardens in the Kingdom. Second only to the Blacks, or so I have been told."

Lucius returned with a nod of his own. "Yes, I believe rumourmongers have decided to describe it as such." He gestured for the Crown Prince to join him and his wife in walking toward the long table that had been set for lunch.

It was when they had begun to move that the crowd also stirred, being brought to life again. And the whispers that filled the air! The whispers!

"Quite the personage," Blaise observed, turning to his companions. "And that title too! It's pretty decent of him not to have the man announce him in his full title else- Draco? What is the matter with you?"

His friend had turned deathly pale and had an almost frantic look about his eyes. He was currently clutching Blaise's arm and looked quite faint.

"Draco?" Pansy had noticed the change too.

"Blaise," they could barely hear him. "Could you kindly call my mother please..."

Before either of his friends could move, the Malfoy Heir collapsed against his friend.

"Draco?" Blaise shook him. "Draco?"

When he got neither a response or movement, he turned to Pansy. "Go get Narcissa. I'll bring him to the morning room," he said before hoisting Draco up and half-dragging, half-carrying him into the house.

Pansy made her way to her hostess' side. Fortunately, no one in the crowd had noticed that Draco had fainted so she managed to make her way through them with hardly a fuss. "Your Highness, Lord Malfoy," she curtseyed elegantly. "I hope it isn't too forward of me; however, I do require a private word with her Ladyship."

The Crown Prince's eyes disturbed her as Lucius gave his consent. It was as though they were making a thorough examination of her. It was unsettling.

"What is this about, Pansy?" Narcissa asked kindly.

"Don't panic, Auntie Cissa, but Draco has just fainted," Pansy explained as her friend's mother gasped sharply, earning a concerned glance from her husband. "Blaise has taken him to the morning room."

"What is going on?"

Lucius was a formidable man when something prickled his concern for his wife. The fact that Pansy Parkinson had approached her to have a word was enough to prick his curiosity.

"Lucius," his wife lay a pale hand on his chest. "Lucius, Draco has fainted. Ms Parkinson has just informed me the Blaise took him to the morning room."

Without so much as a by your leave, Lucius sprang into action moving toward the Manor with his wife after turning to Pansy and ordering her to "Stay and keep things in order."

It was after he had left that she realised she was left standing next to the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to cause our hosts any discomfort, but it was a matter of great urgency that needed attending to," she explained.

"He has only one heir, does he not?"

"Pardon?"

"The Lord Malfoy has only one heir, does he not?"

Despite having been schooled with the best mistress of manners and etiquette, Pansy's brow rose. "You seem well-versed in the affairs of your subjects, your Highness. And to answer you, yes. Draco is his Lordship's only son."

"You will excuse me then," the Crown Prince gave her a bow before turning to make his way toward the Manor.

It was not until a few minutes had elapsed that Pansy realised she had forgotten to inquire as to his destination.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

"What is the matter with you, mate?" Blaise murmured under his breath as he lay Draco across the couch. It was quite the effort to bring him in.

He stoked the fire before turning to study Draco, when he noticed that his friend was beginning to have difficulty breathing.

"Draco?" He quickly began to undress him, pulling off his coat before unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. It was when his friend had begun to shiver slightly that his alarm rose exceedingly.

Fortunately the doors to the morning room burst open and a frantic Narcissa came in, racing toward her son. She was followed by a very worried Lucius who thanked Blaise for his quick thinking.

"What happened?" he inquired of him.

"We were standing when the Crown Prince arrived. Draco suddenly clutched my arm and asked for Narcissa before collapsing."

"Oh, my darling baby!" Narcissa stroke his hair out of his face before she noticed the shivering. "Why is he shivering when his temperature is burning? Lucius, get him a physician!"

"I believe that isn't necessary," a voice from the doorway spoke.

All three heads turned in surprise to see the Crown Prince standing there, one hand on the door knob and another in mid-knock against the thick wooden door.

"A physician will not be necessary."

_To be continued_


	9. Chapter 8: The Morning Room

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

Lucius frowned.

The young man may be first in line to the throne but this was his abode. He would not have the heir of his wife's cousin giving out orders in his own residence-not if he could help it.

Turning to his wife, he gave her a bow. "As you wish, Narcissa."

As he left the morning room and the Crown Prince entered it, they met halfway at which point Lucius heard a murmured, "No physician has the ability to cure him." He merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgement before leaving the room entirely.

Blaise, who was watching the proceedings, narrowed his eyes.

"May I?" The Crown Prince asked as he gestured toward the prone figure of the Malfoy heir.

Narcissa nodded. Blaise assisted her to her feet.

"He'll be fine, Narcissa."

They watched as the Crown Prince pulled off a glove from his right hand and place it across Draco's forehead, checking his temperature. Seeming to have been satisfied by the temperature check, he took off the other glove. With both hands uncovered, he moved his left hand right above Draco's heart.

A spark of light jumped from Draco's chest. It was small-miniscule even-but enough to catch Blaise's eye.

"What was that?" he called out in surprise. However, his question was ignored as the Crown Prince moved his right hand again to check Draco's temperature, and then his pulse.

Another spark of light leaped from Draco, this time stronger. It was then that the Crown Prince shifted to move both hands above Draco's heart.

Both Blaise and Narcissa's eyes widened immensely when they saw that his hands were emitting a luminescent light before the entire room was lit afire with lights of different colours, shades and gradients of brightness that resembled-

"Stars..." Narcissa murmured softly as she watched in awe.

Then the room was plunged into total darkness.

Blaise pulled Narcissa behind him, knowing that Lucius would never forgive him should anything happen to her as well.

"What in the world-" He was barely done with his sentence when the room brightened once more, restored to the original lighting as the sun streamed through the windows and the sound of conversation and music from the garden wafted into the room.

The door to the morning room opened and Lucius walked in. "The physician has been summoned, Narcissa. I'm certain he will-"

"As I might have mentioned earlier, Lord Malfoy, your son has no need of a physician," the Crown Prince said as he put on his gloves. "However, I would recommend that you confine him to his room until he has fully recovered."

"Is it...contagious?"

"Confine my son and make an invalid of him?"

Their tones were different. Narcissa's was concerned, Lucius, annoyed.

"Your son isn't ill."

"Then if he isn't-as you so eloquently put it, your Highness-_-ill_, then pray tell why has he fainted? He's a perfectly healthy young man! Fainting is the least of his concerns!"

"Lucius, I believe His Highness was merely-"

"Mr Zabini, when I want your opinion on the matter, I shall seek it. However, that is the last thing that I require as of yet. I demand you speak plainly, your Highness, or I shall be forced to make an enemy of you yet."

Blaise said nothing, knowing that Lucius was merely venting out his frustration as a father concerns himself about his heir. Perhaps the Crown Prince was of the same mind as he merely gave both the Malfoys a bow, adding to Narcissa that while he was grateful for the invitation, "I believe my presence has stirred your husband up considerably."

He was already at the door when he added, "Mr Zabini, a word." Before leaving a stunned Narcissa, a fuming Lucius and a seemingly reluctant Blaise, who followed him out of the room.

"The nerve of your cousin's nephew!" Lucius roared as his wife settled near their son and caressed his cheek. "How dare he speak to me in so condescending a manner! I shall speak to his uncle about this. Royalty or not, his behaviour is unacceptable. Narcissa, what is it?"

"His fever...It's gone."

_To be continued_


	10. Chapter 9: The Headline

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

Ill at ease. That was the best word to describe how Draco felt at the moment. He had just been released from his confinement and, if he was to be honest, he could hardly remember a thing leading up to a fortnight ago. The only thing he could recall was that his mother was hosting a party in which she had invited a whole array of guests.

So imagine his surprise when he woke up in his own wing of the Manor surrounded by many vases of flowers and get-well-soon presents!

He had just been cleared by the Malfoy's physician, who gave him a clean bill of health, before adding that he was not to overexert himself. Instead, allowing for a few hours a day in the solar where he could take in the sun.

Neither his father nor his mother had told him of the events leading up to his confinement. Instead, his father brushed off his questions with inquiries of his own while his mother doted on and coddled him as she was wont to do when he was a toddler.

Blaise was silent on the matter, too. Choosing instead to take the path of gopher and provide him with the lessons that he missed and making sure to pick up the assigned work for submission. Even when he pushed, Draco was met with reticence of a higher scale that he eventually gave up trying.

The servants had been treating him no differently than before which somehow-to a certain extent-put his mind at ease. They still saw to his needs in their usual sedate manner ensuring that routine was soon followed by the young master.

Soon, he was permitted to return to the Royal Academy despite his mother's misgivings. His schedule remained the same, nothing had changed. Everything had remained as it was: normal.

That was until _the_ announcement.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

It was his final term in the Academy, and like all young men in their final year, they were in a vortex that consisted of minimal nutrition and maximum intellectual consumption. Books were pulled from the library as though the shelves were fruit-bearing trees. Anyone who dared to pierce the studious silence with any sound invoked the wrath of the seniors.

And it was in this very atmosphere that the announcement was made. Rather it was squeaked by an unsuspecting freshman who happened to be waving about a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. In the middle of the library.

Earning the ire of his seniors, some of them slammed their books and marched toward the lad with the intent to berate him six ways to next week. However, what reprimand the first senior to reach him intended was lost as soon as he laid eyes on the front page of the publication the freshman had exclaimed upon.

Front and centre, in enormous black letters, was the headline: _Palace announces the engagement of the Crown Prince to the Heir of the House of Malfoy_.

When he had recovered from the initial shock, the seniors turned to the freshman in all seriousness, as he folded the paper to hide the headline from the view of his fellows, and demanded to know where he got the obviously fake copy of the publication and didn't he know better than to read such drivel in the middle of a library?

"It's not fake!" the freshman protested close to tears as he begged to have his copy of the paper back.

Said senior did not feel in the least bit inclined to return the paper. Instead, he held in further away from the freshman who could do nothing except attempt to grab it back. Although with the height differential, it was quite obvious to see who had the upper hand.

And it was into this very scene that Blaise walked in, in his usual devil-may-care attitude, a book tucked under his arm.

"Well, well, well. What _do _we have here?" He remarked as his eyes settled on the jumping freshman. "Pucey, what's that you have there?"

Adrian Pucey, the senior who had been conducting the interrogation, handed the paper to Blaise before settling both hands on the freshman's shoulders to stop him from jumping.

"All this for a copy of _The Daily Prophet_, Pucey? Surely not!" Blaise scoffed as he opened the folded paper. And stared.

"Still think it's _just _a copy?" Adrian smirked.

Rolling up the paper, Balise turned his gaze to the now quiet freshman who began to feel apprehensive and scared. With good reason. The gaze Blaise had turned to him was not the usual flirtatious and easygoing one. His eyes were livid.

"When did you get this?" Adrian was impressed. Not everyone could get a rise out of Blaise Zabini.

"This morning...my mother-" but a hand held up to silence him.

"Let him go, Pucey. And you," the tone brooked no argument, "Stay clear from the library until we're done with the final term."

The freshman quickly gathered his things before scurrying away like a frightened little mouse.

"What was that all about, Zabini?" Adrian followed his fellow senior as he made his way toward several shelves. He was surprised when Blaise pulled him by the front of his shirt with such a force and slammed him against another shelf, virtually hiding them from view.

They were rewarded with several shushing sounds to which Blaise called out, "My apologies, I dropped a book."

"Zabini, do you mind? I think you broke my back!" Adrian growled.

"Who else saw it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do not play games with me, Pucey," Blaise's eyes burned with an auburn flame that somehow knocked some sense into his yearmate. "Who else?"

"Just me." Adrian replied. "Now will you let me go? These shelves weren't built for the purpose of slamming people against them."

"I beg to differ," Blaise said, releasing the front of his shirt from his death-like grip. "So just you and the freshman, huh?"

"That depends on whether or not he hasn't gone blabbing to his friends about what happened," Adrian smoothed his shirt. "Merlin, Zabini! Next time give a guy a little warning before you manhandle him. And what are you doing here? You aren't exactly the type to be studying during exams."

"Where's the fun in that, Pucey? And why I am here is none of your concern."

"Don't tell me you're still at it, Zabini." When he received a raised brow, Adrian pinched his nose and sighed. "Please don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"And I thought you were just dying to know?" Blaise folded the paper once more and tucked it into his book.

"No, I'd rather not. Though I do warn you. You're a good bloke, Zabini, but sometimes I think you took on your little project just for the sake of a little amusement," Adrian frowned. "Don't be stupid."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." And with that, Blaise exited the library leaving a bemused Adrian behind to return to his books.

_To be continued_


	11. Chapter 10: The Royal Academy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

The trees that lined the drive nothing short of dignified. Perhaps having stood watch over centuries of students lent them their air of superiority as compared to other tree-lined drives in the country.

As the Chrysler 300 made its way along the avenue, edging toward the gravelled roundabout, its passenger heaved a sigh.

Neville Longbottom could list a number of places he would rather be at than at the Royal Academy. In fact, he would have rather he had been at the receiving end of his grandmother's lecture on propriety and manners than be en route to his destination.

The nearer they were to the drop-off point, the more he could feel himself sinking into his seat. A pair of merry blue eyes watched him from the rearview mirror before a voice next to the chauffeur spoke.

"Buck up, Nev. It's not like we're going to execute 're just here to drop something off and be done with it."

Neville groaned. Trust Ron to make his insides feel queasy.

"I would that it were that easy," he muttered. "But why I had to be the one to bring it-let alone present it-is beyond me."

Ron shrugged. He had been pulled from his morning drills by the King himself and was ordered to accompany Neville- It was more of the King peering out the window and yelling for "that red-haired fellow - Weasley - to come over here and assist the young Neville in delivering a package."

"Fortunately, my brothers weren't present else the confusion would have been a state of hilarity," the sixth son of Lord Arthur Weasley chuckled. "I will admit, I am surprised as to why he would ask us to deliver something of this nature. Ah, here we are!"

As they alighted the car, they were met by the Headmaster and what they assumed were he unoccupied members of the faculty.

"Greetings, Headmaster," Neville bowed, echoed by Ron. "It is wonderful to see you again."

"Young master Longbottom, it is indeed," Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I see you have brought the young master Weasley with you."

"Yes, sir. We have been tasked by His Majesty to deliver something. May we have permission to seek out the young Malfoy heir?"

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I am quite familiar with this tradition. Very well, gentlemen. You have the Academy's permission to search for young Draco. Might I suggest you bring Mr Filch, our caretaker, with you?"

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir," Neville bowed again before following Argus Filch toward the inner courts of the Academy. Ron bowed to the old Headmaster as well before hurrying after him.

"Do you think he remembers us?" Ron queried as soon as he caught up with Neville. "I could have sworn that twinkle in his eye was telling me he knew that I was the one who painted the pig green, slicked it with oil and let it loose in my last year."

"They say the Headmaster never forgets a face, a special talent of his," Neville shrugged as he occasionally eyed the students that they passed. "Does your wife know about that?"

"My wife knows about a lot of things, more so than you," Ron snorted, earning him a glare from his companion.

"I'd rather not hear about young Lord Ron Weasley and his _exploits, _if you please. Where is she anyway?"

"Who?"

"Your wife: the Lady Hermione."

"Gone," Ron waved his hand dismissively. "We've been married for less than a year and I have only seen her for two, three months at most."

"That bad, huh?" Neville was surprised, wondering why his two friends decided to marry at all when they hardly had time for each other.

"You know how she gets when she conducts her research. Practically eats, lives and breathes for it - and while I love her for it - mother has been driving me spare about heirs." Ron raised a brow at two students who were pointing toward them. "And I'm not even the eldest!"

Neville laughed. "At least you have brothers to share in the responsibility. I have no one but myself to blame should the Longbottom line run out, or so my grandmother says."

"She's a formidable woman: Augusta," Ron nodded.

"She's forceful most of the time, but Gran has her soft moments."

Ron was about to reply when Filch unceremoniously threw open the first set of doors they stopped at - _How did we end up at the dormitories? _Ron mused - and they were met with a yell of "Merda!" and a mad scramble for blankets.

As light streamed into the room, he was able to make out a seemingly familiar face scowling at them before a steady stream of Italian abuse hit them.

"Apparently, we've just caught them _in flagrante delicto_," Neville grinned as he shut the door with a brief apology. "Or at least, that's what I think he meant."

"Did you see who it was?" Ron was still coughing due to the shock.

Neville gave what seemed like a cross between a shrug and a nod before advising Filch that "Perhaps knocking on doors would be better" in the future?

They knocked on several other doors before moving on to the study hall and the library to continue their search.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Draco felt clean. In all actuality, he was cleaner than he had been half-an-hour ago when he accidentally tripped in the greenhouse and fell into some potted plants, sacks of soil and other items he did not even want to think about.

He had rushed to the baths and scrubbed himself all over until he was immaculate - and quite red - and no longer felt the need to exact revenge on the hapless freshman who had caused the furor.

He had just settled on a bench - book at hand and opened on the chapter he needed to read - and was eating delicate bites of apple slices, which he took from the kitchen, when he heard his name being called.

He looked up and saw an out-of-breath third year running toward him yelling about "some gentlemen here to see you" and "would Mr Malfoy be so kind as to follow him?"

Sighing, he shut his book, stood up and followed the third year to the main hall - which had temporarily been converted to a study hall - while he and his year-mates were revising for their final examinations.

When he entered the hall, he saw two men standing by the elevated platform that stood a few feet higher than the floor. One of them had wavy deep chestnut-brown hair while the other had a head of flaming red hair that he would not have been mistaken in guessing that he was a member of the House of Weasley. They were in conversation with the Lady McGonagall, who had come to see the institution she supported.

As he was making his way, he felt several eyes on him. Choosing to ignore them, Draco marched down the aisle and made his way to the trio whose conversation ceased as soon as her Ladyship exclaimed in her usual brisk manner: "Gentlemen, I believe your summons have been heard. May I introduce you to Lucius' son: Draco?"

_To be continued_


	12. Chapter 11: The Ring

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

To say Draco had been surprised would have been an understatement. No, it would have been _the _understatement of the century.

Caught unaware? Yes.

Flabbergasted? Most definitely.

Shocked? Positively.

Absolutely dumbfounded and speechless? Evidently so.

He stared at the black velvet box that stood at his dresser. No, he was glaring at it. In the hopes that it would burn and melt everything inside it? Maybe. He wasn't too certain of what he had hoped to achieve by his actions. He only knew that it gave him relief to do so.

The moment he had been introduced by the Lady McGonagall, the two men had bowed in his direction before introducing themselves as Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley.

That's when he realised that the head of flaming red hair looked familiar. He had heard of the infamous sons of Lord Arthur Weasley and may have seen them on one or two occasions. He knew that they had all studied in the Royal Academy but when the youngest was in his last year, Draco was only starting his.

Something else tickled his memory that when Neville had motioned to Ronald's direction, Draco forgot his manners for a moment and blurted out: "The green pig!"

Neville had turned to Ron then with a raised brow which was returned with a good-natured grin. "Apparently, your reputation precedes you, Ron. It's a wonder that the future king's fiancé is familiar with your antics."

"I told you it was legendary," Ron argued back.

But Draco didn't hear the rest of the argument play out and instead stared at Neville. Fiancé? What ridiculousness was he talking about?

As he noted Draco's wide eyes and extremely agitated expression, Neville sighed and muttered under his breath about "the things I do for King and country" before adding aloud, "I take it you haven't heard the news yet." Turning to Ron, he motioned to Draco's general direction. "Ron, go get Mr Malfoy here a seat. This might take a while."

A seat had been fetched and his fellow students rushed out of the hall without so much as a "by your leave." Instead, Ron Weasley had taken it upon himself to announce that "those who do not vacate the hall - with the exception of Mr Draco Malfoy - in the next twenty seconds will be subject to a month's detention. With Mr Filch." There was a mad rush and flurry of papers, books, and food until the hall was very much empty, you would have heard a pin drop.

Looking quite pleased with himself, Ron speedily shut the doors to the hall, locking them for extra precaution before turning and leaning against one of them. He gestured to Neville and said, " Oh by all means, ignore me. Do continue with your speech, Nev. I'm just dying to see how this one goes."

Neville had frowned at that before flashing him a two-fingered salute which Ron merely laughed at. Turning to Draco, he motioned to the seat, waiting for him to take it before he resumed.

Draco was grateful for that seat. He would have been floored as the next words out of Neville's mouth consisted of a smorgasbord of vocabulary and grammar that he wasn't able to follow with the exception of the words: "engagement", "marriage", and "ring".

He gaped as Neville brought out the black velvet box that bore the Royal Seal in silver thread.

"We have been ordered to deliver this to your person," he was told as the box was opened to reveal a silver ring with a black diamond surrounded by six white diamonds in the shape of a flower. "I believe the ring was custom-made, Mr Malfoy, and-"

It must have been that he had been caught unaware by the announcement. Or maybe it was the idea of marriage. Or maybe it was the ring. Whatever it was, Draco could hardly contain himself when he practically half-screamed and half-yelled: "I don't want it!"

"I beg your pardon?" Neville stared at the Malfoy Heir.

"I don't want it. Take it back! I never want to see it again!" His breathing had turned heavy as he struggled to keep his temper in check. And sure enough, he was failing miserably.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Neville's voice gently coaxed him as though he were speaking to a five-year-old instead of a young man.

"No, I will not!"

"No matter how much you protest, Draco Malfoy, you haven't a choice," Ron interrupted. "So instead of succumbing to the usual histrionics, I highly suggest you take the ring and mull it over. Neville didn't tell you to wear it. He just said we were sent here to give it to you."

And like in a dream, Draco felt himself receiving the ring, bidding his guests farewell and heading to his chambers at the dorm.

As the box stood unrelenting atop his dresser, Draco buried himself under blankets and comforters in an attempt to ignore and perhaps forget what had just happened.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Three weeks later found Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley ensconced in a study located along the East Wing of the Palace, with the latter embroiled in a grueling chess game against the Crown Prince.

The game would have passed on quietly, and victory would have been swift for the winner had not a servant knocked before entering.

"Who is it?" Harry asked without looking up from the board before deciding to move his queen and take out one of Ron's rooks in the process.

The servant glanced in Neville's direction and - on receiving an encouraging nod announced, "The Lord Ernest Macmillan has requested an audience with your Highness."

At the name, Neville shut his book and was in immediate attention.

"Did he mention what this was about?" Harry continued.

"Yes, Sire, a wee bit-mentioned something about your cousin, Sire, but I didn't manage to catch the rest of it," the servant's voice shook as he attempted to gain a semblance of calm.

As he gestured to Ron to make a move, Harry looked up from the board and smiled at the servant. "Send him in."

A hurried bow followed by a semi-slam of the door had Ron looking up. "Lord Ernest Macmillan? Wasn't he the one who-"

He wasn't given the leisure of finishing the sentence as the door opened and the servant announced the Lord Ernest Macmillan, Head of the House of Macmillan and Regent of the House of Smith, as the man himself entered the room.

Ron shot Neville a questioning glance as he noted the calculating look on his face, but received a slight shake of the head as a response.

"Lord Macmillan," Harry returned the bow with a brief nod of acknowledgement before extending his hand to gesture toward a bergère.

"Your Highness," Ernest noted that they were not alone and gave due acknowledgment to both Neville and Ron, addressing them by their proper titles.

"Well, that eliminates the possibility of this being a courtesy visit," Ron murmured as both he and Neville took their seats.

"I was informed that this visit is about some personal - if not familial - matter?" the Crown Prince inquired. "Something about my cousin, or so I have been told."

"Yes, it does," the Lord Macmillan, whose face was generally cast in a gentle mold, frowned a bit as though weighing his words. "To be frank, Harry, I haven't a clue where to begin."

Ron balked. Usually the most of the Lords of the realm still adhered to general protocol when addressing the Crown Prince behind closed doors. Both he and Neville had adhered to it before the Crown Prince himself had protested.

Neville elbowed him, slipping a piece of parchment into his hand. Glancing at the slip of paper, he read it under the pretense of inspecting the cuff of his sleeve: "They're related, albeit distantly."

Nodding twice to indicate that he understood, they resumed listening in on the conversation. It still amazed him exactly how many families the Blacks were related to. Even he could claim familial ties on his father's side and - to some extent - his mother's as well.

"I believe my cousin had something to do with it?"

"Yes, he does. I received a voluminous letter from my aunt citing numerous points as to why she is asking - demanding, really - that I represent her in seeking recompense from the Crown for what she feels has been a gross misconduct on the part of your cousin," Ernest sighed, producing the letter. "She has listed, among other things, the complete and utter disregard for protocol, the lack of propriety and behaviour, and the fact that her nerves are now so frayed that she can hardly stand to hear his name being spoken around her."

Ron was gobsmacked. A frazzled Lady Smith was the last thing anyone wanted to deal with. The last time he had encountered in such a mood, he had witnessed her exchanging verbal vitriol with another Lady of Court, which resulted in His Majesty, the King, barring both parties from appearing in public until the matter had been settled. Fortunately, a truce was arranged - with much maneuvering done on the part of her nephew, Ernest Macmillan.

As Harry scanned the contents of the letter, Neville pursed his lips. Surely her Ladyship hadn't taken leave of her senses. Granted the connection between her family and that of the Crown's own extended family was unconventional to say the least.

"Have you asked Zacharias the reason for her outburst?" Neville interrupted as Harry was still reading. "Surely he knows."

Ernest shook his head. "I didn't have to ask. When I got home yesterday, there was an Owl bearing a note from The Academy on my desk. The caretaker had seen them in...shall we say, a predicament of sorts."

Ron's brows furrowed before he shot up his seat and declared: "No wonder he looked familiar! It _was _a bit dark but I would have known that face anywhere!"

"You saw them?"

"In a manner of speaking," Ron replied sheepishly, noting that his outburst had interrupted Harry's reading.

Neville pressed a hand to his temple, feeling a slight headache come up. If only Ron hadn't mentioned what they saw, but that was asking too much of the redhead, who was now parrying inquiries from Ernest.

He felt a tap on his arm and opened an eye to see Harry handing him the letter to read.

"She's demanding that we either execute him or demand he leave the country," the Crown Prince noted as Neville hurriedly scanned the contents of the letter.

"Leave the country? Has she gone mad? The reason he is even in the country is because of her," Neville muttered, before pointing a section in one of the pages. "She expects us to do this? Surely she doesn't take us as barbarians."

Harry tucked his hands behind him, looking contemplative, before calling the attention of the other men present in the room. "I have a proposition for you, Ernest."

"I'd be happy to hear what you have in mind, Harry, so long as it preserves us all from my Aunt's wrath," Ernest said amiably. He had rather he be kept out of the melee, but his Aunt had dragged him from his home and shrilly told him that as Regent of the House of Smith, he had a responsibility to his cousin who was to inherit that particularly title which he held.

To be honest, he would rather Zacharias inherited the title already. A steady stream of Macmillans were more than he could handle. Adding a boatload of Smiths to the mix was purely mad. Not that Ernest Macmillan was a pushover.

He had such a devotion to family that he willingly took over the reins as Head of House when his father had fallen ill - formally after the latter passed away. But couple with this devotion was an ironclad will that reared its head every now and again, or as observers had noted, "when the occasion calls for it."

One such occasion occurred a few years ago. It had caused quite a stir but eventually the furor had died down. Not after his display of staunch will, though, Ron nodded to himself as he watch both the Crown Prince and Lord Macmillan shake hands briefly in agreement while Neville looked on.

_To be continued_


	13. Chapter 12: The Bonding Robes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

He couldn't sleep. And he knew why.

Less than 24 hours after having received the ring, Draco had been at the receiving end of a letter that advised him of his "duty to family" and the "prestige and honour" of marrying into such an "ancient and noble" House before detailing what the next few months toward the wedding would be like.

The wedding.

He had frowned at the word before depositing his father's letter onto his desk, refusing to continue to read what he deemed as a complete disregard for his feelings on the matter.

He was surprised his mother hadn't written him a note. Usually, good - or bad - news had her sending notes to him. Perhaps she was of the same frame of mind as he was?

He nurtured the home. Else there was no way out of the situation. Unless...

"I could run away," he murmured to no one in particular.

But where?

As he nurtured these thoughts, little did he know the wheels were turning. Resistance was futile.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Lucius Malfoy scowled as he pretended to read the papers. The news about the engagement had caused quite a number of disturbances in his son's life and while he may seem cold and callous to the world, his son was a different matter.

For a week, Draco had suffered through the most embarrassing of experiences. With the Press dogging his every move, he could hardly step out of his bed without the public knowing about it.

The first few days were fine, in Lucius opinion. There were articles on Draco, his family and his activities. However, someone - Lucius wasn't quite sure, but he would certainly find out - decided that articles with old photos weren't enough and began following Draco.

At first, the photos were harmless candid shots of Draco in class or with his friends. However, it began to progress toward unseemly: shots of Draco in his pyjamas, reading in the library while revising for his exams.

But the photo that broke the camel's back - and had Lucius issuing threats of death and mutilation - had been published two days ago: a photo of Draco in the showers. Naked.

Narcissa had been distraught. How could anyone do such a thing to her "darling boy"? She demanded that Lucius do something about it all the while tearing the paper to shreds.

Lucius had strong words with the Editor-in-Chief of the publication and made good his word to sue them for every Galleon they were worth. He had been surprised to find out that the Palace had done nothing but issue a mild warning to the Press about snapping"indecent" photos of his son, and it irked him exceedingly.

Court rumour had informed him that his wife's cousin was severely ill. He had yet to confirm the news himself, and instead clung onto the same belief his wife did: that Sirius would pull through. In the meantime, he had a bone to pick with the Press.

A rustle of fabric had him looking up from the papers.

"What do you think, darling?" His wife asked as she circled critically. "The detail is superb and it brings out his eyes - and the embroidery along the waist is exquisite."

"Narcissa," he managed to say it calmly. "Would you mind explaining to me why my heir - your son - is in a dress?"

Glaring at her husband, Narcissa adjusted the sleeve, motioning for the seamstress to mark the change with pins. "This isn't a dress, Lucius. It's Draco's Bonding robes and I want it to be perfect."

"Draco's Bonding- In Black family colours?"

"I don't see why not?" Narcissa nodded approvingly toward the seamstress. "He is afterall marrying into my former House."

"But we have yet to iron out those details. In fact, we have yet to iron out _any_ details at all. A pre-Bonding hasn't been signed yet, let alone the Terms and Conditions for the Bonding Proper."

His wife bit on her lower lip, a habit she hadn't outgrown from childhood. It was something she did when she made a demand of him and he did not wish to fulfill it.

"Don't give me that look, Narcissa."

She pouted to show her displeasure before sniffing and returning to the business at hand: adjusting the robes her son was currently wearing.

The bell at the door rang, indicating that someone had arrived. Madame Malkin, who had been overseeing the fitting along with a posse of seamstresses, went to see who it was.

She returned in a few minutes, her face quite pale, ushering in another visitor into the Private Fitting Room the Malfoys had reserved much to Lucius' consternation. However, his protests died when he saw that the additional - and uninvited - guest was none other than his son's fiancé: the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness!" His wife exclaimed as curtseys and a bow was made in the general direction of their distinguished guest.

"Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy," the Crown Prince returned the gesture with a nod of his own. "At ease," he added toward the seamstresses who were struggling in keeping to the standard to decorum and protocol.

"May I ask what brings-"

Lucius was interrupted by a delighted laugh from his wife as she gestured toward her son - the only figure who had yet to move - and asked Harry what his opinion on the Bonding robes were. Had he been raised in a barn, Lucius would have probably run a hand across his face in an exasperated motion. However, he was a nobleman so he permitted his wife her interruption.

Draco was mortified. His mother chattered on happily as she explained the details of the robes he wore, gesturing toward them as she spoke. The Crown Prince stood there nodding at the right intervals with a polite smile on his lips.

After her brief explanation, his mother asked, "What do you think, Your Highness?"

"Indulge me, your Ladyship, in enlightening me as to why your husband's Heir is clothed in _my _House's colours?" Draco noted an underlying tone of concealed fury in the Crown Prince's voice though it was faint and masked with the usual conversational tone one used when discussing the weather.

Narcissa was flustered as she tried to explain the logic behind the decision. Her cousin's Heir had a disturbing glint in his eye, she noted, as she wrapped it up.

"No," the tone was clipped. "Pardon me, your Ladyship, but I would prefer for my Intended to wear white." Motioning to Madame Malkin, he ordered the famed and aged seamstress to "change the colour" and to "see to it that all the details Her Ladyship be kept in the new robes."

Draco felt himself turn a very embarassed shade of crimson as Madame's assistants hurriedly pulled out bolts of white fabric while his mother turned quite pale and turned to her husband.

Lucius, on the other hand, was wavering between the disbelief and anger. Disbelief that someone had the strength of will to say "No" to his wife. Anger because of the backhanded slap the Crown Prince had just given his House.

Unlike the common folk wherein wearing white was a symbol of one's purity, the Nobility who married wore the family colours of the House they were entering. It was a symbol that the selected future spouse was accepted into House. If you were asked to wear white then you were viewed as a pawn - marrying simply to elevate one's status - and not a "true member" of the family, thereby stripping you of all possible power and authority you would have gained by marriage.

Narcissa had worn the Malfoy colours when they had married. Even the Crown Prince's own mother - despite her inferior birth - had been blessed by the Potters to wear their colours. The only brides who never wore their husbands House colours during the wedding was the Lady Hermione Granger-Weasley and the Lord Macmillan's spouse, whoever they were.

Seething inside, it took some time for Lucius to understand that the Crown Prince had turned to him and was speaking with him.

"I beg your pardon, Highness. My thoughts were elsewhere," he admitted.

"I was saying that I believe it is in the best interests of both parties that we discuss both the pre-Bonding and the Bonding contract, Lord Malfoy, in order to avoid - shall we say: "any untoward incidents" between your House and that of mine- don't you think?"

Speechless, Lucius could only nod.

"I am glad to see we are in agreement," the Crown Prince said. "I shall call on you again, Lord Malfoy. I trust you will ensure your solicitor to be present?"

"I shall, your Highness," he replied, finding his voice.

At the assent, Harry gave a nod of approval and bid the assembled farewell before exiting the shop altogether.

As soon as the door to the shop closed behind him, Lucius exploded.

"How dare he? He may be Heir to the Throne, but he is _not yet _King!" The Head of the House of Malfoy roared to no one in particular. "How dare he make Draco dress in white on his Bonding Day as though he were common folk! My son is not a plebeian!"

"Perhaps his Lordship would wish to bring his temper elsewhere?" Madame Malkin murmured soothingly, worried that Lucius would end up destroying her shop in blind anger.

"I shall have you know that I am most displeased by these turn of events. My son! In white! The absurdity! The nerve!"

Narcissa prudently kept quiet as she tested out several of the fabrics presented against her son's hand.

"We all understand how unnerving it must be for your Lordship," Madame Malkin continued in her soothing vein. "But rest assured your son's robes shall remain unrivalled, family colours...or not." She avoided mentioning the option colour to avoid aggravating the circumstances as she gently yet firmly escorted Lucius out of the dressing and fitting area and into the sitting room of her shop.

_To be continued_


	14. Chapter 13: The Contracts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

Lucius was beyond annoyed. He was severely vexed. So much so that he had taken to threatening his solicitor behind closed doors every time they stepped out discuss one detail or another - and this was quite often.

Unfortunately for the elder Malfoy, he was caught in the middle of the negotiations for the pre-Bonding and Bonding Contract between his son and the Crown Prince, who had been present since the deliberations were held.

They had discussed, among other things: living arrangements, visiting rights for himself and his wife, financial obligations as well as familial duties. However, they reached an impasse at the wedding date - He had earlier lost the argument as to his son's bonding robes, and was still rather sore about it - as the Palace demanded a date that was, in his personal opinion, too early.

"My son will be sitting for his final exams, Your Highness. On top of that, the Palace has demanded he take etiquette and protocol lessons thrice a week - while he is revising, might I add - in addition to accompanying you to formal gatherings and official functions," Lucius stated coldly. "I do not think it in the best interest of his health to have the additional burden of the wedding until after he is done sitting for his exams."

"You will excuse my forwardness, Lord Malfoy, but this matter is non-negotiable. The wedding will be held at the stated date," the Crown Prince said firmly. "It would be in your son's best interests to learn the rigors of his position earlier than needed. Being Consort to the Crown Prince is not an easy task, and neither is being the Consort of the King an easier one. In fact, the House of Black has been most gracious in its dealing with you with regard to these contracts. We are perfectly well within our rights to force you to accept the earlier draft had we thought it in the Palace's best interests, but we did not as a gesture of goodwill."

The words left a sour and bitter taste that had Lucius momentarily frowning. His House had given way during much of the discussion due to being its lower rank in comparison to the Royal House, but there were certain things that did not suit and he would fight tooth and nail for it before he signed the bloody contract.

Feeling a slight tug on his sleeve, he turned to his solicitor, who leaned in and whispered, "Consider, Lord Malfoy, that the Crown Prince has been most gracious indeed in his allowance of visitation rights, the financial settlement and the elevation of rank for your son."

Lucius finally gave his nod of assent, letting the solicitor speak on his behalf in assuring the Palace that they were most pleased to note the rescheduled date for the wedding.

A few more hours of fleshing out the contract, both he and the Crown Prince had affixed their signatures and their seals onto the Contracts.

"It was a pleasure to meet with you regarding this matter, Lord Malfoy," Harry said before he exited the room, leaving his own team of solicitors to deal with his guests.

Lucius watched the retreating back, wondering if he had signed away his son to an unknown fate.

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Draco was tired.

Between dodging nosy photographers, the whispers of his classmates and even the intriguing looks of the general public, he felt drained as he walked to the library - lugging several heavy tomes - to return some of the books he had borrowed.

"Well, you look worse for wear," Blaise noted as he joined Draco. "Do you need a hand with that?"

"I can manage. Thank you," he snapped before looking apologetic. "I sorry, it's just that...It's one of those days."

"I can tell," the taller boy studied him from the corner of his eye. Indeed, Draco seemed a bit thinner and a tad bit paler than usual. "Have you been getting enough rest?"

"Between the exams and my lessons in the Palace - throw in the preparations for the wedding - I think I've been able to get as much rest as I can," he sighed. :Why do you ask?"

"Seems to me like you're overdoing it," Blaise shrugged. "Couldn't you beg off from Consort duties while revising?"

"And risk humiliating my House because of it? Don't be ridiculous, Blaise," he scoffed. "I hardly have time to memorize the names of the guests for the dinner this evening, let alone send a petition to my fiancé to ask for a sabbatical."

"Dinner this evening? I've never heard of Narcissa needing you to memorize the guestlist before- Oh, it's for an official function, is it?"

Draco nodded. "Apparently one of the Crown Prince's friends - or was it distant family relation? - has gotten engaged so as his- Blaise, whatever is the matter?"

The dark-haired young man was coughing and choking simultaneously, having stopped walking. In a panic, Draco dropped his books and began patting his back, worriedly.

"It's all right," Blaise waved him off after a few minutes. "I'm fine. Just a sudden cough."

Draco eyed him warily. After several more assurances, he picked up his books and continued walking with Blaise.

"Does the family relation have a name?" Blaise asked while running a hand over his chest to soothe the slight pain.

Draco shook his head. "The letter didn't say. Only that the Palace would appreciate it very much if the Consort-to-be was present during said gathering. Mother's been happy enough to arrange for my robes for the affair so I still have half an hour to finish my final paper."

o0oo00ooo000ooo00oo0o

Narcissa beamed as she tucked a stray strand of her son's hair away from his face before stepping back to survey her work.

Fortunately the robes she had picked fit Draco perfectly. If he would just stop fidgeting then it would have been sublime. Lucius had retreated to his study to nurse a headache but she didn't care.

"There," she smiled. "You look lovely, darling."

"Mother, I feel completely bare!" Draco's tone was panicked.

"Nonsense!" Narcissa waved off his complaints. "It's perfect!"

"Perfect?" Draco's voice was a notch higher. "I can feel the draft on my back and I can hardly cover my legs."

Narcissa glared at him. "It's just a slit-"

"A thigh-high slit-"

"-with a peek-a-boo hole at hole for your back-"

"Didn't they have enough fabric to cover the back?"

"But it is absolutely perfect and I will not have you maligning my work," she said in a tone that Draco knew brooked no arguments. He stared at himself in the mirror, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole as he surveyed himself.

Granted his mother had chosen a shade of blue that complimented his complexion and his eyes, but he still felt naked. The robes had a simple design, it was floor-length and long sleeved. However, a triangle-shaped hole had been cut along the back, and a thigh-high slit had been placed strategically along his left leg.

A ring at the front door had his mother rushing the servants while she brushed off imaginary cresses from his robes while they waited.

"Mother, please-" but his last - and futile - attempt to get his mother to change her mind was halted when the Crown Prince was ushered into the room and announced by a servant.

"Your Highness!" Narcissa curtseyed before taking Harry by the arm and leading him to Draco. "You must tell me what you think of Draco's robes for your dinner this evening."

Draco felt a blush run across his face as he felt those deep forest-green eyes studying him.

"I'm afraid we haven't the time, Lady Malfoy," the Crown Prince said apologetically with a polite smile. "I shall be remiss in my duties toward my cousin if I tarried any longer."

Draco saw his mother deflate a bit, but she smiled and gave him a kiss, whispering to him to "mind his manners" and "behave accordingly" before leaving to "see to the door."

"Shall we?"

Draco stared at the hand offered him.

"It is customary to take the hand offered," the Crown Prince said coldly as he moved his gloved fingers in a summoning motion.

Draco hesitantly took it and before he knew it, they were out of the door and into the Rolls Royce Phantom headed to their destination.

The ride was relatively quiet, with only the sound of turning pages piercing it. The Crown Prince was reading through a folder that he had been handed the moment they sat in the car and had hardly attempted to converse with him.

Draco was ignored until the car pulled up to what looked to Draco as a very familiar Country House done in the French style.

"We're here," was all the Crown Prince said.

To be continued 


	15. Chapter 14: Tom Marvolvo Riddle

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to the wonderfully amazing and talented J.K. Rowling.

"Take his Highness' arm," a voice whispered to him just as the butler opened the front door of the house.

Draco did as he was told and was met with a mildly surprised look from the Crown Prince.

"I-"

"Welcome, Your Highness, to the Residence of the House of Macmillan and Smith," the elderly butler bowed reverently as he ushered both of them in.

_Macmillan and Smith?_ Draco was taken aback although he tried very much to cover his surprise as they followed the man into the house, passing by portraits, antiques and the occasional window.

He was too busy taking the house that he didn't notice until it was too late that they had just been announced into a room filled with different members of nobility.

The silence that met the announcement lasted for only a minute until a familiar face bounded up the stairs and shook hands with Harry as Draco stared, wide-eyed.

"Sei ni ritardo! (You're late!)" the unmistakable rich black-haired, olive-skinned young man exclaimed in Italian.

"Won't you introduce me to your lovely bride-to-be?" Rich mahogany-brown eyes danced playfully as they settled on Draco. "Although, come to think of it, no introductions are necessary, am I not right, Draco?"

Nonetheless, ever the gentleman - as Draco would later discover - Harry graciously introduced Draco to "My cousin, Alberto Zabini of the Royal House of Zabini of Italy. I believe you know him as 'Blaise.'"

Draco's hand shook as he offered it to Blaise in a gesture of friendship. The Italian shook his head in laughter before shaking Draco's hand too.

"Alberto?" Draco couldn't help but ask.

"Alberto Blaise Zabini to be exact," was the cheeky reply as the guests went to continue their stalled conversations. "It seems we shall soon be family, Draco, and I shall have to call you "cousin" the next time we meet or so I have been informed."

Draco could only nod as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Blaise was related to Harry and apparently a member of a Royal House.

"In the meantime, perhaps you could remember that you are now betrothed and should introduce your Consort-to-be," a gentle and friendly tone interrupted and Draco found himself looking at a blonde-haired nobleman who - on seeing Draco's confusion - bowed and introduced himself. "Good evening, Consort Malfoy. I am Ernest Macmillan of the House of Macmillan and Smith. It is an honour to receive you."

Gathering his wits about him, and not wishing to embarrass his fiancé, who exchanged greetings of his own with Lord Macmillan, Draco gave a cordial smile and thanked their host for the invitation, adding: "Congratulations on your engagement."

Perhaps the nervousness in his voice had been evident, but it seemed as though half the room had paused. Draco felt himself flush in utter embarrassment, lowering his eyes to the ground, silently wishing that the ground would simply open up as he felt eyes watching him.

Harry watched as a subdued silence enveloped the Malfoy Heir, whose hand trembled slightly on his arm, before turning to Ernest with a look on his face that told the nobleman all he needed to know.

"I believe you have mistaken me for my cousin, Consort Malfoy," Ernest added amiably. "We do share the same shade of hair, after all. However, here he is- Finally come to join us, Zacharias?"

Draco looked up at the name and saw an embarrassed-looking Zacharias Smith, who was making his way toward their group.

"I would have come earlier, however mother's been insisting that I meet her friends," he sighed with the air of a martyr before he took notice of Draco and turned completely red. "Malfoy!"

"You know of Consort Malfoy?" Ernest was slightly taken aback.

Zacharias nodded. "We study in the Academy together, but what brings you- Consort? What do you mean by-" It was by then that he noticed that Draco's hand was resting on an arm that belonged to- "Your Highness!" In his surprise, Zacharias did something between the cross of a curtsey and a bow, which the Crown Prince responded to with a kindly nod.

"Is he not the most adorable idiot?" Blaise said happily as he went to stand by a sheepish Zacharias, who murmured that he was not an idiot. To which Blaise responded by wrapping an arm about his waist and condescendingly kissing his temple.

"Blaise, not in front of the guests, please," Zacharias frowned.

"Our lips are sealed," Harry promised. "Congratulations on your engagement, Zacharias."

Draco watched as Zacharias thanked Harry with a tidy little bow before being subjected to more affectionate touches by his fiancé. He was mortified by the faux pas he had committed but was even more grateful to Ernest Macmillan for saving him from making an even greater fool of himself. As he was mulling about the best way to express his thanks, he suddenly felt a cool, tense vibe settle across the room.

For a moment, he thought all the light had been removed from the room as he watched Blaise adopt a stern visage while slowly moving Zacharias behind him. Much to his amazement, the latter did not argue and in fact, looked quite fearful and nervous. Even Ernest looked positively livid as he pursed his lips in a manner that indicated the exact level of his displeasure.

Perhaps it was the tension in the room. Perhaps it was the sudden change in their companions. Draco wasn't for certain, but he knew that when he glanced at Harry, he felt a certain chill. For while all the other faces in the room ranged from abject horror to outright anger, the Crown Prince had the look of Death about him.

Draco's hands trembled visibly and he would have withdrawn the hand on his fiancé's arm had not the Crown Prince covered it with a gloved hand before turning ever so slightly in his direction to whisper, "Everything will be fine."

He merely nodded his head wondering if Harry had really meant those words for him or for himself and gave a slight press on Harry's arm to indicate that he understood.

"My my. Isn't this a pleasant surprise?" An unusually terrifying voice spoke. Draco felt his blood run cold as he watched a man with dark mahogany-brown hair that almost looked black make his way across the room toward their general direction, his eyes unwavering as they rested on their party.

Sweeping a bow, the gentleman smiled. "Good evening, Your Highness. I did not expect to see you here."

"Neither did I." Harry's tone was clipped.

"Come, come. A member of nobility has recently been engaged, surely decorum dictates that I - as a member of the nobility myself - should offer my congratulations."

"What you doing here, Riddle?" Blaise's voice was unfamiliar to Draco's voice as was the accented English he had adopted.

"You will do well to remember that you are on English soil, your Highness," the unaffected voice continued as those piercing eyes turned to Zabini.

"Is that a threat?" Harry's voice had an unrecognizable bite to it that had Draco wondering who this person was.

"Oh no," Tom Marvolvo Riddle laughed. "Far be it from me to threaten a member of the House of Zabini. No. I only meant that the Prince Alberto should be careful. After all, you never know when you might meet something unfortunate such as - shall we say - an accident. What then would happen to your darling fiancé?"

Blaise growled. It was low but enough to convey what it was he felt like doing to the guest.

"Lord Macmillan, I see you've made quite the alliance for your House," the unwanted stranger continued, this time rounding on the host. "It is such a pity though that your own Bonding caused quite the scandal and did not result in the formidable alliance your cousin was able to make. However, I am not surprised. You always did have a thing for riffraffs."

"I would politely ask you to leave," Ernest replied while gesturing toward the direction of the front door. "However, I have long since realised that the art of subtlety has been lost on you. Therefore, I **demand **that you leave, sir. At once."

Tom gave him a cruel smile in return and made as though he were about to leave when his eyes settled on Draco.

"And what do we have here?" he raised his cane against Draco's chin and would have forced him to look at him had not Harry intercepted the vile thing and thrust Draco behind him.

"Leave, Riddle. Before I change my mind about letting you depart from this room alive." A dark light crackled around the gloved hand that Harry had placed on the cane.

Draco shuddered as a malevolent look passed across Tom Riddle's face and a hunger for power danced across his eyes. "You ought to be careful as to who you threaten, Your Highness."

"It wasn't a threat."

Tom laughed wickedly before sweeping another bow. "In that case, I bid you good night, Your Highness, and may I congratulate you on _your _recent engagement." With that parting shot, he departed from the room and, subsequently,the Macmillan residence leaving behind a room filled with shaken guests.

_To be continued_


End file.
